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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222385">i can see your heart beneath your ribcage (you should save it for me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chahakyn/pseuds/chahakyn'>chahakyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hanahaki Disease, Kidnapping</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:48:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chahakyn/pseuds/chahakyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tewky stumbles, clutching the edge of his desk. No. It cannot be. The disease of flowers is so incredibly rare, most thought it was a myth, himself included. But this petal on the floor, and the many that follow in the coming weeks, says otherwise.</p><p>He’s in love with Enola Holmes. And if she does not learn to love him back, he will surely die.</p><p>--</p><p>5 times Tewksbury tries to hide his illness from Enola and 1 time she realizes the truth.</p><p>(A Hanahaki AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>154</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i can see your heart beneath your ribcage (you should save it for me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i’ve had this thing in my drafts since i watched the movie in <i> november </i>, so it def took a bit of wrangling to get it here. not as happy as i could be with it, but i'm satisfied that i managed to drop-kick this out of my drafts and stop agonizing over it LOL regardless of my feelings, i hope you enjoy!</p><p>song title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ajpPLRQXLQ&amp;ab_channel=HopeTala"> Easy To Love Me</a> by Hope Tala</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.</p><p>He regrets kissing her hand. Almost. Not really. It had been forward, almost obscenely rude for how short a time they’d known each other. And yet, he’d felt as though he’d known her for half his life, and the urge to show her just how much she meant to her despite the circumstances had been too great to ignore.</p><p>The hesitant way in which she had backed away from the gate had made his heart stutter in his chest, sinking like a lead weight as she walked away. But he will respect her decision, no matter which way she decides. Besides, it’s hardly in his power to make her do anything she doesn’t want. <em>That</em> much he’s learned in their brief but colorful acquaintance.</p><p>Tewky mulls over the moment in his head over and over in the coming weeks, memory well-worn like the pages of a particularly beloved novel. Her rejection stings less and less as the weeks turn into months, shifting instead a familiar rhythm of loneliness as time passes without word from Enola.</p><p>But then something else begin to feel different. The constant tickle in his throat is unusual, and Tewky doesn’t quite know what possesses him to keep it a secret from his family. Call it intuition, selflessness, selfishness, whatever; nobody knows that he’s suffering, least of all why. He doesn’t quite understand it either until the first petals slips out from between his lips, pure white and fluttering to the ground.</p><p>Tewky stumbles, clutching the edge of his desk. <em>No</em>. It cannot be. The disease of flowers is so incredibly rare, most thought it was a myth, himself included. But this petal on the floor, and the many that follow in the coming weeks, says otherwise.</p><p>He’s in love with Enola Holmes. And if she does not learn to love him back, he will surely die.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It’s been nearly 4 months since Tewky last saw her when a letter arrives at breakfast. The handwriting is unfamiliar, but the signature at the bottom of the brief letter is unmistakable. <em>Enola</em>. He barely has enough presence of mind to excuse himself graciously from the table before rushing to his room, greedily reading the letter once the door shuts behind him.</p><p>It’s brief, but every word, every line of the letter settles something deep in his bones, sparking at the brief flicker of hope he’d been nursing. Something in his chest tightens and Tewky’s smile suddenly falls; things aren’t as simple as they were 4 months ago. Now, there’s a weight on his mind whenever he thinks of Enola.</p><p>He sits down at his desk, pen raised to paper, and replies, painfully aware with every word he writes that he cannot tell her of his predicament. No, he would never force such knowledge upon her. Something that dire would trap Enola, weigh her down and tether her to his side. And she doesn’t deserve that.</p><p>So, he writes back and not a word is said about the petals that coat the inside of his mouth, caressing his lips. Not a single word.</p><p> </p><p>2.</p><p>“Lord Basilwether,” a voice calls from behind him. Tewky holds back a sigh, dutifully turning around as he laments his situation. He <em>abhors</em> balls. God help him, he wishes Enola were here to make things more interesting. She is always good at that.</p><p>“Ah, my Lord.”</p><p>His eyes widen as his gaze rests on his caller.</p><p>“Enola?” Speak of the devil.</p><p>“Holmes? Alas, I am not, but you do flatter me so,” a woman who most definitely is Enola Holmes says. She’s grown a bit taller and filled out her figure more in the three years it’s been since they last saw each other, but her wicked sharp gaze and knowing smile are unmistakable. “I was wondering if I could have the next dance.”</p><p>“I—yes, yes of course,” he says hurriedly, holding out his hand. She places her hand in his easily, and he leads them onto the ballroom floor just as the musicians begin to strike up another tune, something slow and warm.</p><p>“Enola—"</p><p>“Beatrice, my Lord. Beatrice May Posy,” Enola says with a sly smile. “I received an invitation and, well, hearing that you would be attending as well made it imperative that I come see you.”</p><p>Tewky’s heart flutters at that. She came to see him? Even if her words are sugar-coated pleasantries, he will be holding them close to his heart.</p><p>“Really now?” He gives her a wink, smothering his nervousness at being so close to her. “And was there any reason in particular that you wished to see me?”</p><p>“Well, I had an idea that I felt you would be able to help me with,” Enola hums, following his steps easily. “That is, if you have time enough to spare?”</p><p>“For you, always,” he says without thinking. He curses himself, though the surprised expression Enola gives him is almost worth the embarrassment of speaking so freely to her.</p><p>Enola nods, recovering quickly. “Wonderful.”</p><p>The moment the last note of the dance ends, she pulls him off the floor, dragging him through the hallways of the manor before shoving him into a room. She closes the door, turning, and Tewky breathes a sigh of relief. With no audience, Enola’s act has been dropped and it’s just her, the girl he’s been exchanging letters with for the past two years. His friend. The girl he loves dearly. Not that she will ever know.</p><p>“I know it has been quite a long time since I last asked, but I need to borrow your clothing. And your expertise,” Enola says, already pulling papers out the bosom of her dress, unfolding them and laying them out on the desk.</p><p>“You have it,” Tewky says without hesitation. Something tightens in his chest, a feeling that he’s grown familiar with. But he pushes it aside until Enola has what she needs and is ready to depart. Ever the gentleman, he escorts her to the door, securing a promise to visit soon before he rushes away. Slumped in another dark room, the petals he coughs out are barely visible. But they weigh heavily in his hand and in his heart, far more than such delicate things should.</p><p> </p><p>3.</p><p>“Well this is certainly a departure from the usual requests,” Tewky hums as he regards Enola across the carriage from him.</p><p>“You agreed,” she sniffs, adjusting her hands primly in her lap. Which is odd in and of itself; Enola is anything but <em>prim</em>. She’s bold and fiery and powerful and sometimes almost too much for Tewky to even look upon. And yet she sits there, proper and contained and very un-Enola-like.</p><p>“That I did,” Tewky hums, adjusting his top hat. “Odder still is that you requested I play this role with you.”</p><p>“Married couples are easier to trust.”</p><p>Tewky blinks before raising a brow. “So you wish to marry me?”</p><p>“Hardly,” she sniffs. Tewky shrugs at that, wry smile masking the sharp prick of pain in his chest. Something must be changing with the disease; another hard rejection to his face isn’t doing the illness or his heart any favors. But he can deal with that later. Right now, Enola is right in front of him, and he’s hardly going to squander this opportunity.</p><p>“Well, with such a shining confession like that, I would be hard-pressed to refuse.”</p><p>Enola regards him for a moment before returning his grin. But her gaze is sharp, and Tewky knows the gears are turning in her head. As they always are, really.</p><p>He plays his part admirably after that, hopping nimbly out of the carriage and extending a gallant hand to her. Her gloved fingers glide smoothly against his skin before her arm slides in the crook of his. And just like that, they’re a couple. A very normal couple going to a somewhat illicit gambling parlor, of course.</p><p>He keeps Enola close to his side, eyeing passersby that brush against her like an ever-dutiful husband. Her fingers tap incessantly against his arm, a translation of her pent-up energy. She seems more anxious than usual, probably because her contact is late. But it could also be because they’ve never played a part like this before, a couple in love. So much could go wrong; one misstep, one false word and they’d be done for. And yet, Tewky can’t feel any fear at all.</p><p>An idle thought suddenly occurs; perhaps he should lean into his part a little more. Surely there’s no harm in indulging himself, showing his devotion under guise of this act. Anything to ease the perpetual ache in his heart without making Enola too uncomfortable. And after all, he is only human. He can only weather against temptation for so long.</p><p>Tewky leans closer, sliding a careful hand against her waist as he dips his head down closer to her ear. He absently notes their difference in height; Enola is always in motion, something that does a decent job of hiding how small she really is. But now that she’s tucked into his side, he can truly appreciate her size and how well she fits against him.</p><p>“If you don’t stop fidgeting, my love, you’ll run the risk of ruining our cover.”</p><p>Enola’s eyes widen at the endearment, cheeks flushing a lovely pink. A flustered Enola is a rare sight indeed, and Tewky makes sure to drink his fill before she recovers. She gives him a half-hearted glare, pressing a hand to his upper arm to steady herself in his grip.</p><p>“I’m hardly <em>fidgeting</em>,” she mutters, gaze darting about the room. “Just keeping myself limber. In case we must run.”</p><p>Tewky hums. “We won’t need to.”</p><p>“I…suppose so.”</p><p>“You don’t trust me?”</p><p>“I—it’s not that I don’t <em>trust</em> you,” Enola huffs, shaking her head even as she gives him a sly smile. She leans just a little closer, looking up at him through her lashes before glancing away almost shyly, and Tewky can’t <em>breathe</em>.</p><p>“Enola—”</p><p>His strained murmur is cut off as Enola makes an excited noise.</p><p>“They’ve arrived,” she whispers, already stepping away. A sharp pain suddenly lances through his chest and something lodges in this throat. Tewky gasps. Enola blinks, looking up at him.</p><p>“Darling?”</p><p>“Nothing,” he says hoarsely, holding out his arm to her. His fingers can’t stop shaking.</p><p>Enola tilts her head, gaze sharp as she tucks her arm in his. They meet the contact and the whole affair is quite short and simple for all the fuss Enola made about cover. And before he knows it, they’re back in the carriage, stopped outside Enola’s flat. Enola’s hand is atop his, warm and soft.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>He nods, blinking as he clears his throat. “Just a bit tired. Nothing a good night of sleep can’t fix.” He smiles at that and she nods, letting him help her out of the carriage and to the front door. She regards him with an uncomfortably knowing look.</p><p>“Sleep well, Tewky.” She holds his gaze until the door shuts gently, and Tewky pauses a beat before turning on his heel, nearly hurling himself into the carriage. A quick rap to the roof, one-two, and they’re moving. The rattling of the carriage wheels against the cobblestones provides enough cover for him to double over in his seat, coughing violently into his hand.</p><p>Something eases in his throat, passing across his tongue. Tewky blink blearily, regarding the full bloom in his hand, no longer just a smattering of petals. A quick glance confirms his earlier suspicions; a gardenia. The flower to express untold, secret love. How fitting. If the flowers weren’t for Enola, he might consider showing them to her, letting her laugh at the circumstances.</p><p>“They fit the situation so well. Is it fate?” he might say, in another world, another life, teasing and gentle.</p><p>“No,” she’d snort, eyeing the flower carefully before settling a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No such thing. Just an interesting coincidence.”</p><p>“Of course,” he would murmur, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her close. And she would follow, letting him bury his face in her neck. “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>4.</p><p>It’s getting worse.</p><p>Tewky coughs wetly into his handkerchief, groaning at the blood spotting the white cloth. The gardenia stems crowd his lungs and throat more insistently these days, almost as insistently as thoughts of Enola crowd his mind. Fortunately (or unfortunately, he can’t quite decide) only one of these is causing him bodily harm.</p><p>Regardless of the pain, it’s getting harder to hide it. He’s had to dispose of a few too many handkerchiefs to the point where his mother is beginning to give him rather…concerned looks. He will not be dissuading her of any notions she may have, but it’s caused dinner to be a rather awkward affair the few times she deigns to bring it up. It’s all very inconvenient.</p><p>A sudden knock at doors causes him to sigh, pushing himself to go check as he shoves the bloodied handkerchief in his pocket. It’s late enough that the servants are asleep, and late enough that he’s just a little curious who might be calling. A quick peek at the figure on his front doorstep causes him to fling it open.</p><p>“Enola, it’s—what in <em>God’s </em>name—”</p><p>“Help me in, please,” she says with a wince, leaning against the doorframe. Her hand covered in blood matches the dark stain against her shirt, and that propels Tewky into motion faster than anything.</p><p>“How bad is it? Do you need a doctor?” he hisses as he loops her arm over his shoulder, helping her into the (thankfully abandoned) sitting room. She settles on the couch with a hiss, teeth gritting.</p><p>“<em>No</em> doctors.”</p><p>“But you’re hurt,” he says accusingly, kneeling in front of her and pulling at her shirt without a second thought. He freezes suddenly, hands hovering over the bloody wound in her side. Touching her would be improper. This is <em>incredibly improper.</em></p><p>“Yes, well-spotted, that.” Enola eyes him hazily. “You can touch. It’s just a small graze, I think.”</p><p>Her shudder of pain as his fingers ghost over the lesion says otherwise.</p><p>“I’m calling a doctor,” Tewky says through clenched teeth, making a move to stand. Enola’s grip is surprisingly strong for her state, digging harshly into his wrist.</p><p>“No, don’t—”</p><p>“<em>Enola</em>—”</p><p>“You <em>can’t</em>, don’t—"</p><p>“Honestly,” he snaps, surprising even himself. Enola’s eyes widen as he turns on his heels and sweeps out of the room, returning with some hoarded medical supplies.</p><p>Enola groans. “<em>Tewky</em>—”</p><p>“Enola,” he says, inpatient. “Let me do this. If you will not call a doctor, then just…<em>let</em> me do this. For you.”</p><p>His words must strike a chord somewhere in her; she looks up and down for a moment before nodding and letting him kneel beside her. He works quickly, listening to her smothering every gasp and whine of pain. Even now, she’s trying to put on a front, trying to be strong in his presence.</p><p>“It’s supposed to hurt,” he murmurs as he works, feeling the skin of her waist jump as she inhales sharply.</p><p>“<em>Obviously</em>.”</p><p>“I mean,” he corrects with a huff, “that you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”</p><p>Enola makes a half-hearted noise, watching as he wipes his hand before picking up clean bandages. “Perhaps I merely have a high tolerance for pain.”</p><p>“Perhaps. But if you didn’t, I would think no less of you for it.”</p><p>Silence follows his remark, and Tewky’s blood runs cold at that. Perhaps he overstepped, he should really learn to watch his mouth around Enola, even if it’s so easy to let the truth tumble out in front of her—</p><p>“Tewky.”</p><p>He looks up, blinking as he meets her gaze. Her expression is unreadable, as she rests her hand atop his, pressing at them gently. The bandages fall out of his limp hands and suddenly, he realizes his hands are shaking.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Enola’s gaze is sharp, too sharp. She’ll know if he’s lying, she always has and now that they’re so close, it would be impossible to hide it from her.</p><p>“No matter about me,” he murmurs in response, deflecting her concern with a brief nod of his head. Her fingers tighten over his, a reflexive action.</p><p>“You…you can tell me anything,” she says, seeming to choose her words carefully as her gaze roams his face. “You know that, yes?”</p><p>Tewky nods at her, smile tight as he thinks of the bloody handkerchief stuffed in his pocket.</p><p>
  <em>I can’t, Enola. I really, really can’t.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>5.</p><p>The cool press of a metal knife to his neck sends a shiver down Tewky’s spine. His senses are heightened, the blindfold around his eyes amplifying every touch, every shuffle. It’s nearly unbearable.</p><p>“Where is she?” A deep voice growls in his ear, the rope around his wrists tightening with sharp tug.</p><p>Tewky swallows carefully, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I have no earthly idea of who you refer to—"</p><p>“You know <em>exactly</em> who,” the voice snaps, and Tewky hisses in pain as the knife presses into his skin. He feels a trickle of blood slide down the skin of his neck. “Enola Holmes, that <em>bitch</em> of a detective.”</p><p>“Miss Holmes?” He tilts his head, making a show of thinking hard. “I’m afraid I cannot help you.”</p><p>“You liar.”</p><p>The shove is sudden, cold stone floor meeting his face without warning. His ears ring at the harsh contact, mind barely able to recover before he takes a blow the stomach. And another. And another.</p><p>“I know nothing,” Tewky gasps out, groaning in pain as someone grabs the lapels of his jacket, tugging him up.</p><p>“You’re a filthy son of a bitch and a <em>liar</em> to boot. Not worth our time.”</p><p>Another swift but harsh blow to his cheek sends Tewky reeling back, unable to keep his balance. He lands hard against the wall, jarring enough that his teeth chatter. The sound of his assailants’ footsteps fading heralds relief, until they return an undeterminable time later, something long and wooden dragging behind them against the floor. Tewky shivers, thoughts swimming in and out and around his head in a haze as they begin to beat him again, demanding information that he refuses to give.</p><p>Maybe he’ll die this way, beaten and broken on a cold, unfamiliar stone floor. Maybe it’s better that way; this whole business with the disease of flowers can be put to rest with no more complications. Enola deserves to be free of that burden of knowledge, she deserves better than that. Hell, she deserves better than <em>him</em>, a thousand times over.</p><p>It’s that thought that carries him into blissful unconsciousness, everything quiet and dark. But then something, <em>someone</em>, is shaking him, speaking to him frantically.</p><p>“—need to wake up, Tewky, I’ll never forgive you if you don’t, please, <em>please</em>—”</p><p>Well. That’s more than enough incentive, isn’t it?</p><p>Tewky forces himself to the surface of his mind, eyelids heavy as he takes a shuddering breath.</p><p>“E-Enola?”</p><p>“Oh,” she breathes, hand cupping his face, “oh, Tewky, are you alright? Can you hear me?”</p><p>“Just…just fine,” he says hoarsely, coughing as she helps him sit up. Her touch is unfailingly soft as her fingers skim over his cheek.</p><p>“They hurt you,” she says quietly, a hint of steel in her voice that has Tewky struggling to open his eyes wider to see her properly. Her lips are pursed down, gaze furious and yet so, so sad. “Because of me. Tewky, I’m so sorry. Truly I am.”</p><p>“I’m sure they would have hurt me even if you weren’t involved,” he says slowly, pushing the pain away impatiently and willing his mind to work a little faster. “Enola, I—”</p><p>He cuts himself off with an aborted cough, turning away. Blood splatters wetly against the floor as his body folds, coughs wracking his frame. A cool hand slides to cup the back of his neck, Enola’s voice a soothing murmur in his ear. Tewky’s eyes water as he hacks, tears swimming in his vision and blurring the sight of blood and flowers on the floor.</p><p>Flowers. <em>No</em>. His hand falls to the ground over the splatter of blood, desperately sweeping the petals and flowers away, behind him. Adrenaline and fear wash over him in waves as his chest heaves. She can’t know, not now when she’s already so burdened with guilt.</p><p>“Tewky.”</p><p>He looks up, feeling her fingers brush against his ear as she slots herself under him and props him up.</p><p>“Enola—”</p><p>“Let me take care of you now. Yes?”</p><p>He lets out a sigh of relief at that, head lolling against her shoulder. Another successful day hiding a secret from Enola Holmes. What a blessing. What a curse.</p><p>“Yes. Thank you.”           </p><p> </p><p>+1</p><p>It’s been 2 months. 2 months since he last saw Enola, 2 months since she disappeared off the face of the earth. He would assume she’s on a case—when isn’t she?—except just last week, Sherlock Holmes had called on him, inquiring as to Enola’s whereabouts. That had been enough to send him into a spiral of fear and panic quite unbecoming of someone of his station. Tewky growls as he feels his chest tighten, throat catching over the familiar shape of flora.</p><p>And now he’s getting worse. The blood flows swifter now, soaking through his handkerchief in mere moments as his chest heaves in pain. If Enola were safe, the pain would be just another burden to bear silently. But now that she’s missing, every stuttering breath he takes feels like an inexorable struggle, too much for his body to bear.</p><p>“God <em>damn</em> it,” he hisses, letting the curse loose as he sinks helplessly to the floor, back pressed against the wall. The bloodstained handkerchief falls to the ground as he scrubs his face with his hands. He can’t lose hope. That’s all he has.</p><p>“Goodness!”</p><p>Tewky’s head snaps up, gaze landing immediately on the rather large basket sitting in the middle of his room. In his haste to shut the door and have some privacy, he’d neglected to notice it. He stands quickly, brow furrowed as he approaches the basket. A spark of hope lights within him as he reaches out. A person in a basket could only be Enola, it <em>must</em> be Enola—</p><p>He throws the lid off of the basket, eyes widening as he sees Enola peering up at him mischievously, dressed in trousers and a cap mashed atop her hair. His mouth falls open in shock, though he can’t help the fondness that wells up in him at the sight of her, dressed in clothing that spits in face of decorum despite how well she wears it.</p><p>“I believe I’m growing too old for such hiding places,” she muses as she stands, stretching languorously. “And Tewky! Such <em>unbecoming</em> language in front of a lady—" she teases before freezing, eyes darting to the bloody handkerchief on the ground. She looks up, gaze snapping to his mouth and Tewky curses himself; there must be blood on his lips.</p><p>“You—"</p><p>“Enola,” Tewky interrupts, striding forward in two brisk steps to stand next to her. “Where <em>were</em> you?”</p><p>“You’re ill,” she says accusingly, as though he hadn’t spoken.</p><p>“It’s nothing of consequence—"</p><p>“Don’t <em>lie</em> to me,” she snaps, fire in her eyes as she points menacingly at him. “You’re a horrid liar and I can always tell. So <em>don’t</em>.”</p><p>Tewky catches her wrist with a huff, stepping close enough that she has to crane her neck up to meet his gaze.</p><p>“Where were you,” he repeats firmly. He watches as Enola’s lips purse together in frustration, thought she neglects to pull her arm from his grip.</p><p>“On a case. I was in too deep and I had to disappear. How long have you been ill?”</p><p>Tewky tilts his head, jaw working. One for one. That’s fair enough.</p><p>“Years. Why didn’t you let someone know?”</p><p>Enola rolls her eyes. “I <em>told</em> you, I was in too deep. How many years?”</p><p>“7 years. Or whereabouts.”</p><p>“And you didn’t tell me. Do you know what it is?”</p><p>“Sherlock came by in your absence,” Tewky says carefully, dodging the question with all the subtlety of direct blow to the face.</p><p>“<em>Tewky</em>.” She wrests her arm from his grip and grabs him in one fluid motion. “Do you <em>know</em> what it is?”</p><p>He wants so dearly to say no. And he could try, oh God he could <em>try</em>, but in her grip, at her mercy, Tewky knows without a doubt that he could never lie to her like this. She could ask anything of him right now, the stars, the moon, his <em>heart</em>, and he would be powerless to deny her any of it, all of it.</p><p>“I do,” he murmurs, breathing unsteadily as he holds her gaze. Her fingers tighten minutely against his arms.</p><p>“Will you tell me now?” she asks, voice equally hushed. Tewky opens his mouth, mind working at how to explain his ailment in a way that won’t impose on her because he could never force himself on her even at the cost of his life—</p><p>He freezes as a familiar pain ticks in his chest, throat constricting helplessly. Ah. How utterly, tragically poetic.</p><p>Tewky stumbles back out of her grip as he begins to choke, one hand clapped over his mouth as the other clutches his throat. He falls to his knees, dimly aware Enola kneeling at his side with hesitation, hand resting against his back. Blood beings to trickle from between his fingers as he coughs violently, petals and full blooms coalescing on his tongue in a bitter mass.</p><p>In a few moments, the spell is gone, and Tewky inhales fresh air greedily as he pulls his hand away. In his palm sits a handful of wilting gardenias, covered in liquid red.</p><p>Enola jerks back slightly. “I thought…the disease of flowers was a myth.”</p><p>“It’s quite real,” Tewky says with a hollow laugh. “I would know, as its long-suffering patient.” He fishes a spare handkerchief from his pocket (because now, more than ever, it pays to be prepared in this way), wiping his hand and mouth carefully. He can feel Enola’s gaze resting heavily on him.</p><p>“If it’s real, then who are the flowers for?”</p><p>“I’m sure London’s greatest detective already knows the answer to that question,” he responds wryly, tossing the stained handkerchief aside as he stands. Enola’s gaze meets his as he looks up; she seems shocked, more frightened than he’d anticipated.</p><p>“You can rest easy,” Tewky reassures her, tempering his voice he offers his hand to her. “This need not change anything of our friendship between us. I will respect the independence you insist upon and fully deserve.”</p><p>“That’s it?”</p><p>“What else is there to say?”</p><p>“Tewky, you’re dying,” Enola snaps, shoving his hand aside and clambering to her feet. “If this disease is how I recall, 7 years of this is far too long. You are nearly undone.”</p><p>He shrugs. “I know.”</p><p>“Then why do you not fight back?”</p><p>“Enola,” he says with a half-hearted laugh, his hand cupping her jaw as his thumb swipes playfully across the arch of her cheek. “Fighting back would mean imposing on you in a way that I would never dream of. You made it clear many years ago that you wouldn’t return my feelings, and I am not the kind of man to challenge that.”</p><p>“But you’ll die,” Enola says quietly, bottom lip trembling as Tewky gives her a sad smile.</p><p>“Yes, we’ve been over that.”</p><p>“How could you do that to me?”</p><p>And suddenly her eyes are shining with tears that spill over, sliding down her cheeks as she blinks quickly.</p><p>Tewky’s eyes widen. “Enola—”</p><p>“You confess yourself to be a man who respects me? Then how could you just assume my feelings and let yourself die like…like a martyr?”</p><p>“You seemed—”</p><p>“I wasn’t ready!” She cries out, throwing her hands up. “I was a child, for God’s sake. We were both children when you expressed your feelings for me.”</p><p>He watches her as she turns on her heel, pacing furiously in front of him as she pushes her impatiently from her face.</p><p>“I was scared and unsure and I needed to find myself, understand who I was as a detective, as a person, beyond the confession of a boy I met on my first real case. But then time passed and we grew up and I saw what you had become, what you needed, and I…I’m always gone, off on some case or another. You deserve better than that, someone more present and attentive. I knew I couldn’t give you that, so I…I kept my distance.”</p><p>Tewky blinks. She seems to be operating under some very…incorrect assumptions. Well. That will hardly do.  </p><p>“Enola,” he murmurs, stepping forward and tucking his finger under her chin. She follows the nudge of his hand blindly, chin tilting up at his behest. “Do you think I didn’t know that? That you would always be busy solving cases and being London’s best detective? Enola, I don’t love you because I think you would make a conventional wife and proper lady of this manor. I love you because you’re unconventional, because you are so brilliant and independent and driven—”</p><p>Tewky cuts himself off, an exasperated but fond laugh bubbling out of his mouth as he shakes his head.</p><p>“Did you <em>really</em> think I watched you jump off a train, saw my hair off, save me time and time again all those years ago, only to then think that I wanted you to settle down, become more tame and ladylike?”</p><p>“Well when you put it that way…”</p><p>“I want you. As you are. Why would I want anything else?”</p><p>And that’s the heart of the matter, isn’t it? Enola is all he wants. It doesn’t matter how unusual a union between them would be to society, how unproper her work would seem to the upper echelon, how unconventional an absent lady of the house would be. All of that is of no consequence if he could have her, if he could make her happy.</p><p>“You…you have this rather irritating quality of never acting as I expect,” Enola says carefully, shocking him out of her reverie as her bare hand rests carefully against his throat. Tewky inhales sharply, but says nothing, watching her with wary eyes. This moment feels so tenuous, as delicate as a butterfly’s wing, and he fears that any sudden moment might shatter this precious thing suspended between them.</p><p>“You really want this,” she murmurs, the questioning lilt at the end of the statement more of a formality than anything. He can feel her breath fanning against his mouth as she speaks.</p><p>“I have never wanted anything more,” he answers, hoping that she read the desperate truth in every syllable he enunciates.</p><p>“Well then.” Enola’s fingers press tentatively to his cheek as she tilts her head up. Tewky ducks down ever so slightly, stopping abruptly as her tongue flicks out to wet her lips. Dear <em>God</em>, she will be his undoing. That is, if she hasn’t already unraveled him to his wits’ end.</p><p>But then she’s kissing him, almost impatient as she reaches up to press her lips to his. It’s insistent and fiercely affectionate and just a bit clumsy in a way that makes Tewky’s heart pound uncontrollably. He chuckles almost involuntarily at her eagerness, sliding his hand up her jaw to settle the kiss into something slower and softer. She follows easily, matching him step for step until he’s pulling away for air. He feels her lips chasing after his for a single, dazed moment.</p><p>“Well then,” he parrots unsteadily, looking down to a very flustered, out-of-breath Enola Holmes. He can’t think of a single thing he has ever seen that is nearly as beautiful.</p><p>“You love me. And I love you. That’s…” she trails off in wonder before shaking her head, looking up to give him a playful smile. “If that’s how we feel, then I’m sure we can arrange something.”</p><p>She punctuates the statement with a quick kiss, and then another, and another. Tewky snorts, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her around in a fit of impulsivity.</p><p>She loves him. Enola Holmes <em>loves</em> him. He feels so light, lighter than air as her laugh joins with his in a whirl of happiness and excitement. The secret love of gardenias is not longer as fitting as it once was.</p><p>But no matter. He will not have to think about gardenias for as long as he lives. And for that, he is quite grateful.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come find me on <a href="https://shizuoi.tumblr.com/"> tumblr</a> if you want to chat!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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